


Talk to Me

by MyImmortalLover



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Anxious Mycroft, Asexuality, Fluff, M/M, Wholesome
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2020-06-02 07:13:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19436518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyImmortalLover/pseuds/MyImmortalLover
Summary: Lestrade is so so good. Mycroft is curious but scared. Why is he scared? Anxiety sucks ):Mycroft wants to find out more about this man who is being so kind to his brother. Obviously there's a catch, right? Everyone knows that caring is not an advantage, Sherlock.





	1. Chapter 1

Impulsive.

Mycroft Holmes has considered himself many things. Intelligent. Powerful. Dangerous. Controlling. Calculating. Manipulative. Cunning. However, impulsive was a first. The horror sank in as he realized what he had done. On the screen in front of him was video footage of a certain Detective Inspector’s office, and propped up against the back wall in the far left corner was a black umbrella with the initials M. H. carved into the wooden handle.

~~~~

“Driver, stop the car here.” Mycroft braced himself as the limousine halted to a stop, keeping his eyes on the silver haired man who was rushing out of the building they just passed.

Anthea looked up from her phone, “Sir?” He could tell she was confused, but she knew better than to question him.

“I will be back momentarily. There is a matter I need to attend to.” He hoped Anthea didn’t see the small beads of sweat starting to form at the back of his neck. Nervous was another thing that Mycroft Holmes was definitely not. 

With the small remote in his pocket, he disabled the cameras and made his way to the lead detectives office. As he suspected, no one tried to stop him. Most people were out looking at the newest body from a case.

Searching through the room, Mycroft scowled at himself. There was nothing here that pointed to Gregory Lestrade being anything more or anything less than what his file said about him. Divorced. Focused his time and energy on moving up the ranks of the Scotland Yard. No kids. Clean record. 

Stepping back into the black car parked out front, Mycroft couldn’t help feeling confused. The risky trip had been of no use whatsoever to him. Why did he even do that? He couldn’t understand how he was wrong about the Detective Inspector. He had been so sure there was an ulterior motive to taking care of Sherlock. After all, caring is not an advantage.

~~~~

Mycroft Holmes didn’t make mistakes. He was never so careless but there he was with the sleek mahogany handle staring back at him. He had already seen the inspector walking up the stairs of the Scotland Yard through the front door camera. Any moment now he would walk into his office and question the incriminating evidence Mycroft had left behind. 

The door opened and Lestrade walked in. Mycroft’s breath caught in his throat when the inspector walked over to the umbrella. He seemed to look it over, noticing the initials on the handle. With a visible shrug, he placed the umbrella back down where he found it, and started working on the stack of papers on his desk. 

For the next hour, Mycroft found himself unable to tear his eyes away from the screen. He was terrified that the man would jump up from his desk and question the lone umbrella in the corner of his room. However, after another hour of eyes glazing over as he watched the man do paperwork, he logged off and went to bed, devising a plan for retrieval.

~~~~

“Oi! Donovan! You wouldn’t happen to know the poor bloke who left his ‘brella in my office now?” Lestrade questioned her as he walked over to the coffee machine to fill his mug. 

“Sorry sir, no clue. Might have been that nasty kid you got running around. I wouldn’t put it past him to go rummaging through your stuff.”

“Nah, I’m sure whoever left it there was in by mistake, no one’s got any reason to go searching me.” He picked up his mug and started to walk away. “Oh, and Donovan? Give Sherlock a rest, would ya? He really does have good intentions.” 

He didn’t need to turn around to see the sour look on her face. The curly haired teen had managed to piss off every single detective he ran into. He was an absolute handful and had a knack for getting them bad press. However, when the pale boy with sallow skin and track marks running down his arm stumbled into his office a week ago and rattled off suspects for three different ongoing cases, Lestrade knew he had to protect him.

~~~~

Lestrade looked over at the kid in his passenger seat. His arms were crossed and lips stuck in a pout as he turned his head to the window and refused to say a word. 

“Look, Sherlock was it? You need to give me a relative’s address. I’m not gonna let you run off to be the next body I find.”

The boy retorted, “Wherever you stick me I’ll just run away again.” He smirked, “My family thought throwing money at a rehabilitation center would somehow make it escape proof.”

Lestrade frowned. This kid was clearly a genius. Everything he had said about the cases was true, and he had only used what was in the newspapers to gain whatever insight he had. The boy was smiling but Lestrade knew that he had already had multiple chances to get away from him. He was clearly terrified and Lestrade wasn’t going to push him away. Sighing, Lestrade turned on the engine and started for his apartment. 

“Where are you taking me?” Sherlock whipped his head around and glared at him accusingly.

“You’re coming with me.” The boy's eyes widened. “I have a pullout couch and takeout in the fridge. If you stay, you’re welcome to both, and I’ll see what I can do about bringing some cases home for you.” 

Sherlock’s eyes narrowed, “Why are you helping me? What’s in it for you?”

“Listen, all I ask is that you stay clean. Do that for me and I’ll help you get on your feet, mate. You’ve got a brilliant mind, I would hate to see you let that go to waste.”

Sherlock shifted a bit in his seat. “And what if I run away?”

“I’m not gonna stop you, but if you start using again I’ll make sure you don’t get as much as a newspaper clipping about a murder.”

He didn’t give a reply, but he looked less tense than before and began drumming his fingers on his leg. Lestrade took that as an agreement between the two of them. 

~~~~

On his way home, Lestrade stopped by at the corner shop to pick up cereal for himself and Sherlock. As he was standing in line to pay, it hit him how absolutely ridiculous his life is right now. Here he was about to bring home what you could barely even call sustenance for the teenage boy he was letting sleep on his pull out couch. It’s been a week now and he was still completely unsure of how this would work out long term. He barely had enough to support himself, let alone a recuperating child. 

“Gregory Lestrade, right?” 

He looked up to see the cashier looking back at him. He didn’t even know how the elderly woman behind the counter knew his name.

“Er, yes? How’d you know?”

The lady smiled at him, “I’ll be right back.” She came back with a sack of groceries. “A fine young gentleman left this for you. He said it should last you and your boy for the week.”

“I’m sorry, who paid for this?” Lestrade felt like a stone had been dropped straight into his stomach. He hadn’t told anyone about Sherlock living with him. 

“He made me promise not to tell,” she winked at him, “but I am definitely curious to know the secret to getting such a posh handsome man to buy my groceries for me.”

Confused, he pulled out his wallet to pay for the Frosted Flakes.

“Oh hun, you don’t need to worry about that, your boyfriend covered the cereal as well.” She waved excitedly as he walked out of the shop.

Lestrade felt lightheaded on the way home. Who was this mysterious man, and how did he know not only about Sherlock, but where Lestrade buys his food, and on top of that the fact that he was only going to buy cereal. 

He came home to find Sherlock writing in a notebook and hunched over the dinner table, which seemed to be covered in small objects. On closer look, he realized those objects were various types of dead insects. “Oi! What is all this rubbish?”

Sherlock didn’t even look up from what he was doing. “I’m cataloging the different types of insects found in London, isn’t it obvious?” He drawled out. “Don’t worry, they’re all dead.”

“You better clean this up, mate,” Lestrade was too worn out to argue. “Hey, did you tell anyone you’re crashing here?” 

The teen was giving him his full attention now. His eyes narrowed at the brown bag Lestrade had set down on the counter. “He found me,” Sherlock jumped from the chair and dramatically draped himself across the couch, closing his eyes and steepling his fingers together.

“I’m sorry, who found you?” Lestrade was beyond confused now.

His eyes snapped open and he threw his hands up in the air, “My arch nemesis!”

“I’m sorry, your what?” The panic he had been feeling initially subsided, at least Sherlock knew who their mystery helper was. 

“Shhh, I’m trying to think.”

Lestrade rolled his eyes and got ready for bed, this would be a problem for morning.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They meet!!

The plan was simple. While the DI was out on another case, Mycroft would simply slip back into the office and grab his beloved umbrella. Then, when the detective comes back from looking at the crime scene, he would be escorted into one of black cars to the private parking garage Mycroft owns just to conduct intimidating interviews. 

The time had come. Umbrella in hand, the politician stood patiently in the shadows. The unmarked car eventually sped in, and out walked a very cautious Detective Inspector. He didn’t look much. Hair was messed up. Stain on his shirt which was most likely coffee. Wrinkled clothes. Completely frazzled look on his face. Mycroft looked down to assess his own looks. Dark three piece suit with a deep purple vest and royal blue tie, all of which cost more than the other man’s yearly salary. It was always good to have some kind of advantage over your opponent. He smirked and stepped forward into the light.

“Pleased to meet you, Gregory.” He spoke softly in order to force the DI to step closer. He watched with a hint of a smile as Lestrade fidgeted with his hands and shuffled forward.

He grinned, “Nice to meet you…?” He trailed off, inviting Mycroft to give his name.

This threw him off, and for a second his eyes widened in shock, but he quickly regained his composure. Something was terribly wrong. The man in front of him had somehow become less afraid. His stance was more relaxed and he seemed completely unguarded, like he had nothing to hide from him. It was absolutely infuriating.

Hiding his frustration, Mycroft gave a blatantly fake smile. “You don’t need to concern yourself with that. However, I am very curious to know what your intentions are with the young boy you have living with you.”

“Intentions!? What kind of bloke do you think I am? I assure you, I just want to see the kid off the streets and using that brilliant brain he’s got, Mr. Holmes.” He looked back at him confidently, clearly proud of himself for knowing the man’s identity. “Sherlock told me about you, and as much as I appreciate your concern, I can handle him just fine.”

“Call me Mycroft.” The words slipped out of his mouth before he had a chance to stop them. He couldn’t help himself. The silver haired man had warm brown eyes that made him want to trust him. He was completely and utterly lost in this situation.

The man’s face lit up, “Alright then, and call me Greg, not even my mother calls me Gregory. Oh! Uh - thank you for the food.” He looked down sheepishly. “I really am trying to do my best to provide for Sherlock but my god he’s a handful and unfortunately the city of London doesn’t deem catching criminals important enough to pay us much.” He gave a shy smile and looked up right into Mycroft’s eyes. 

The politician found himself unable to speak. There was so much genuinity in that man. That scared him to death. With a curt nod, he swiftly turned around and signaled for the car driver to take Lestrade home.

~~~~

He hoped to god the girl in the seat next to him couldn’t hear how hard his heart was beating. Sherlock had warned him how theatrical his older brother was, but he failed to mention how terrifying and downright gorgeous the man was either. When the older Holmes walked up to him and practically purred out his name, his knees had almost buckled under him. He was completely and inexplicably drawn to this man that he had been warned was ‘the most dangerous man in Britain’. 

When he offered his hand as a greeting, he couldn’t help but smile about how ridiculous the whole situation was. Here was the older brother of the boy living in his home trying to intimidate him. The man had proved himself a giant softie for somehow tracking down Sherlock for the upteenth time and providing his new caretaker with a generous amount of food and supplies. Now here he was trying to scare Lestrade? No, this was absolutely hilarious.

He was absolutely captured by this posh man from his low, honey-like voice to the way he held himself like he could tear apart lives and countries with the snap of his fingers. He didn’t mind the condescending tone he was being spoken to with because he could see past it. 

Lestrade hoped he wasn’t too overly ecstatic when Mycroft gave him permission to use his first name. He was definitely surprised by this, but he was pretty sure Mycroft himself was even more so. 

And now he was sitting in what he was sure was one of many of the man’s private cars being escorted to his rubbish flat, absolutely terrified of what he had come to realize in the past ten minutes. He was completely intrigued by the complex man known as Mycroft Holmes.

~~~~

The plan was simple. Do some research on the older Holmes to find out any excuse or possible way to see him again. The DI quickly learned that this was impossible. The internet seemed to not know of his existence, and Sherlock refused to talk about him other than to complain about how he shouldn’t be meddling in his life. 

A week went by with no contact from the mysterious brother. The only proof of his existence was the prepaid bag of groceries waiting for the detective at the same corner store. Lestrade was going out of his mind. He absolutely needed to see that man again, to hear his voice, to look into those cold, gray eyes again.

“Sir, there’s someone waiting for you in your office. Some important looking bloke.” Donovan greeted him as he walked past her desk. 

He sighed, today was already miserable enough with a stack of paperwork waiting for him, he didn’t need some higher up coming in to berate the department or steal a case from them. Annoyed, he shoved open his office door with a little more force than necessary. Eyes widened as the familiar ginger haired man stood up to greet him

~~~~

If Mycroft Holmes believed in a higher power he would thank it for making him tall. The height advantage he had over most people gave him automatic control in the conversation. As he stood to face the detective, he felt his nerves easing a little. Not that he was nervous of course. The man in front of him wasn’t the president of China or anywhere near as official or important. 

“Hello, Gregory” Mycroft plastered on a fake smile.

The DI’s mouth was hanging open. “What are you doing here?” Realizing how blunt he had been, he turned a bright shade of pink. “Er, sorry, I mean, uh, what brings you here?” He visibly winced at how much he was stuttering.

The politician wasn’t able to keep back the light laugh that escaped him. “No need to worry Gregory, you are not in any trouble. I simply came to arrange a meeting with you where we might discuss the wellbeing of my brother.” 

He didn’t know why he was here. He could have gotten Anthea to arrange for a car to kidnap the man. He had access to his work schedule, obviously, and he knew the man’s routine by heart. Yet here he was, freshly shaved and wearing his best cologne. Why? 

“Sounds good to me,” the detective had finally managed not to fumble around his words, and the blush had mostly faded. “You free Friday night?”

“Yes, I’ll send a car for you at 7.” He looked the man up and down. While he was dressed appropriately for work, Lestrade seemed to own no clothes that didn’t sport a light stain or some wrinkles. “Dress nicely.” With that, he made his way for the door.

“Alright, then it’s a date.”

Mycroft froze. Date. Obviously he meant he would set the date for their meeting, not that the two would engage in a romantic evening of some sorts. 

“I look forward to our meeting.” He urged his feet to move and all but sprinted out the building.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI omg super sorry for getting this in way later than I expected! I hope y'all enjoy!! Feel free to leave suggestions in the comments (:


	3. Chapter 3

Victor Trevor was in the top of all his classes at the Gatiss Academy, second to only Mycroft of course. He had blonde hair that was neatly slicked back and piercing blue eyes. He also had the total and utter devotion of one Mycroft Holmes.

They had started out as friends. As the two smartest students in school, they quite frequently found themselves working together on projects or labs. While the ginger was socially adept, he was not likeable, or funny, or friendly, all of which Victor was. He couldn’t help it. All those times alone in the library lead to poorly covered up looks of longing and admiration. 

When Victor invited Mycroft over for a sleepover, he was absolutely overjoyed. The blonde had so many friends, but he asked Mycroft of all people. Antisocial, slightly pudgy, bland. 

They watched a movie together. When Victor came back to the sofa with snacks, he sat closer than necessary to the other boy, and put his arm behind him. This resulted in Mycroft missing out on most of the movie due to having to focus on his breathing.

“I brought my sleeping bag.” After the movie the boys went up to the bedroom. 

The blonde smiled and shook his head, “you don’t need that, there’s plenty of space on my bed.”

“Are you - are you sure?” After a nod of confirmation, Mycroft carefully climbed up on the bed, making sure to stick to his side of it.

Victor bounced onto the bed, and he moved so that he was hovering over the ginger haired boy. “Have you ever been kissed before.” Mycroft, wide eyed, shook his head no. “Can I kiss you?”

Without waiting for an answer, he leaned down and took Mycroft’s bottom lip in his mouth. The boy was trapped under him but he didn’t mind. He parted his lips and let Victor’s tongue in. After about five minutes of rough making out, Mycroft finally moved his head to the side to get out of reach.

“My mouth kind of hurts” It came out as a whisper. The boy underneath quickly realized the other boy was not paying attention to him. Instead, he was focused on the prominent bulge in his pants.

The blonde flashed a dangerous smile. “Look how much you like this.” He lowered his hips and began to grind down.

“Please stop” The ginger felt his eyes getting wet. He didn’t like how rough the other boy was acting or the fact that he felt trapped.

Victor’s eyes narrowed. “I’m doing you a favor. Don’t act like a tease if you’re not going to put out.” He sat up and moved so he wasn’t straddling the other boy anymore. “Go home, I don’t want you here.”

~~~~

Lestrade realized what he had said only after the words had left his mouth. A date. While the older Holmes was a very put together man, He had not missed the tinge of pink on his cheeks right before he had very quickly turned and left his office. 

The DI knew he stood absolutely no chance with the posh man. However, he decided it couldn’t hurt to flirt until the man locked him up in some underground prison or something. Sherlock had warned him that his brother owned plenty, but that was an exaggeration, right?

Friday had come all too quickly and Lestrade was over at Donovan’s house ironing his best suit. His wife had got their iron and the board in the divorce. Lestrade didn’t care enough about his appearance to ever feel the need to purchase one. Until now. It was 6:27 and he still had to go home, shower, put on the suit, and attempt to clean up his stubble. 

The bell rang at exactly 7. Sherlock made no attempt to move from the couch to answer it. Lestrade quickly rubbed on some cologne and rushed to the door. Standing there was the same young lady who had been in the car with him. She looked up from her phone then turned around and led him to the car. 

Lestrade was told to step out of the car in front of a very fancy frech restaurant. When he stepped inside, the server looked at him and made a face.

“Are you sure you’re in the right place, sir?” The man had an obnoxious accent and a condescending tone.

“He will be dining with me.” Mycroft stepped out from around the corner. He was dressed immaculately in a striped navy blue suit with a baby yellow tie. His hair had been gently combed to the side and looked softer than ever. Lestrade prayed his wide eyed staring wasn’t too obvious.

The color drained from the server’s face. He seemed to know who was talking before turning around and profusely apologizing to the both of them. He quickly led them to a booth in the corner of the restaurant and gave them menus.

The detective’s heart dropped when he looked at the prices. Half the items here cost his weekly salary. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll be paying for the both of us.”

Lestrade looked up to see Mycroft surveying him. “I couldn’t let you do that, besides, I already ate a bit before coming here.” He hoped that his empty stomach wouldn’t give away his lie.

“I can assure you that even a five course meal for a whole dinner party at this place wouldn’t even put a dent in my pocket. I invited you, so it’s my treat.”

The detective muttered his appreciation before shyly lowering his eyes back to the menu. He didn’t know how to admit that he had no idea what any of the fancy names on the menu meant. 

“Is the cuisses de grenouilles any good?” Lestrade looked up to realize the older Holmes was focusing on him still. Had he been staring the whole time? 

The edge of the politician's mouth curled into a grin. “Let me order for you, I doubt you will be disappointed.” 

Lestrade really didn’t think this man would ever stop surprising him. That smirk of his was absolutely entrancing. “What happens if you let me down?” Teasingly, he raised his eyebrows and let out a grin.

~~~~

“One favor, no questions asked.” Mycroft was very aware of two simple facts. The first was that he would definitely win the bet. The second was that there was nothing the man sitting in front of him could provide him that he already couldn’t provide himself. Still, the bet made sense to him, as if his subconscious was already a few moves ahead of him in the mental game of chess the two men were playing.

“Agreed!” The silver haired man stuck out a hand to shake to make it official.

“Are you ready to order sir?” The waiter was looking at the politician, completely ignoring the DI’s existence. 

“Yes, I will have your mutton cassoulet, and he will have the soupe à l’oignon.”

As soon as the waiter left, Mycroft felt uncomfortable. With the other man’s full attention on him, he didn’t know what to say. Luckily, Lestrade took the initiative and nervously rambled on about different cases he has dealt with at work. He was stuttering through his stories, pupils dilating by just the slightest whenever their eyes strayed on each other's for longer than average. The ginger felt himself slowly easing into a sense of safety.

Safety. This feeling was a luxury that Mycroft Holmes was not accustomed to. But the man in front of him had his head thrown back, unable to contain himself over a witty comment he had made about the criminal justice system of London. And it felt good. Good to join him in a very loud and open moment of laughter. To receive stares and dirty looks from the other diners. And it felt very good when their disruptive display of happiness stopped but the feeling of comfort continued. 

“Ahem. Your check, sir.” The waiter interrupted the politician’s story about an obnoxious prime minister after having standing at their table for almost five whole minutes. 

“I noticed. I am not finished yet.” 

The waiter’s eyes strayed to the empty plates on the table. “Of course, sir. My apologies.” He gave a timid nod and quickly walked away.

Lestrade checked his watch. 11:21. “Crap, it’s getting late, and we haven’t even gotten around to discussing the whole Sherlock situation. 

“It seems we don’t get much done when meeting in person, I suppose we could work things out over text instead.”

“Right, of course. That works too I suppose.” It didn’t take much to note the deflated tone in the detective’s voice. He felt bad but Mycroft did nothing about it. He rescheduled two different meetings to sit down with this man just to get absolutely nothing done. It had been a huge waste of his time.

“There is a car waiting for you outside. Anthea will escort you.” He nodded in the direction of the entrance where the same lady who was in the unmarked car stood waiting, somehow texting on her mobile while simultaneously staring at the PI with a bored look on her face.

Lestrade was confused by the sudden change in demeanor, but he still got up and shuffled in the direction of the girl. “Wait!” He turned around to face the older man. “You need my number.”

“I thought you’d know better by now. You really think I don’t already have it?” The ginger man allowed a sly smile to escape him. 

Before he could say another word, Anthea began to walk out and he had to shout a quick thank you before rushing to catch up with her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh god I'm so sorry it has been MONTHS but I am back and ready to be committed so when people ask me what my hobby is I can say writing without feeling guilty (: oops


	4. Chapter 4

_**Save this number. -M** _

Lestrade frowned at the memory of how things had ended last night. He thought the dinner had been going well up until the end, when the other man suggested they stop meeting and discuss Sherlock over text instead. 

_**Did I win the bet? -M** _

_**is that even a question ??** _  
_**definitely beat the frozen meals I’ve been living off of** _

No reply. After five minutes of staring at his phone, the DI decided to finally get out of bed and get ready for a day of paperwork and bad coffee. He put on his least wrinkled suit, headed to work, drank some watered down caffeine, and stayed buried in piles of official forms and documents hours past his shift ended. This continued for the next three weeks. There were only two things, he realized, that got him out of bed. 

The first was his trips to the corner shop, where he would pick up the food that had already been bought by the older Holmes. He had noticed that the other man was not adding to his stock of premade meals anymore and instead was providing them with fresh fruits and veggies, or foods made with whole wheat and organic ingredients. This was very much appreciated by the detective, and much less so by Sherlock, who had been recently put in charge of making meals for the two of them.

Sherlock. The second reason Lestrade had any kind of emotion apart from dread. The kid was an absolute terror. It took every last bit of the caretaker’s patience to get him to even just eat and sleep, let alone to stop turning the apartment into an absolute mess of dead bugs and random body parts (he really did not want to know how those were acquired). It was worth it, though. The boy’s sallowed skin had turned to a healthy white and no longer clung to his bones. His eyes were brighter, and he was no longer skittish around the other man. If anything, he had gotten too comfortable, constantly badgering him for a case to work on and rattling off deductions of anyone who had the misfortune to be near the two of them.

While the teen did not have any official job, his secondary school degree and obvious intelligence were enough for the higher ups to allow him to consult on Lestrade’s cases with him, provided he was being constantly watched over. He had also been promised a paycheck and the official title of Consulting Detective under the condition of good behavior and abiding to the law. Sherlock could care less about the money, but his ego was set on being the only Consulting Detective in the world. 

~~~~

_**How is Sherlock? -M** _

He deleted the message he had typed out. It would be rude to not inquire about the detective as well. Not that he needed to, of course. Mycroft Holmes would not be the most powerful man in Britain without keeping tabs on anyone who was relevant. 

Sherlock had been relevant since before he was born. To the freckled little 7 year old, there was nothing more fascinating than the little brother growing in the bump of his mother’s stomach. Both his parents seemed almost disinterested in the pregnancy. It was not that Sherlock was an accident, they had wanted another heir to the Holmes name. They just seemed so bored, like the nine months of growing a human being was something to check off a to-do list. When Sherlock was finally born, only Mycroft was there. Of course Mrs. Holmes was physically present, but once the baby boy had been delivered, cleaned, and wrapped in a towel, he had been gently placed into Mycroft's shaking arms, as their mother had almost immediately picked up a magazine and began to read like she just finished her afternoon tea. Signor Holmes was off on a business trip. He didn’t see Sherlock until 4 days later.

Gregory Lestrade was not even on his radar until one of Mycroft’s cameras picked up footage of Sherlock getting into his car. Since that day, the lowly Detective Inspector had unknowingly become the most important man in Britain. 

His hand hovered over the phone. Every day for the past three weeks, Mycroft would type out a message to the inspector, deem it unfit to send, and delete the whole thing. At this point it was a ritual. Type. Read. Delete. Repeat. 

“With all due respect, Sir, maybe you should meet him in person again. He seems decent enough.” Anthea had appeared in front of his desk without a sound. 

The politician almost dropped his phone. “This is none of your concern; I would advise you to drop the topic.” He quickly grabbed the files Anthea had brought for him, ducking his head in hopes that she wouldn't see the bright blush on his face that would undermine his authoritative tone.  
She did, of course. Anthea noticed everything.

She had left the room, but came back five minutes later with a thick folder that she dumped onto the desk he was seated in front of. 

“In this folder is all the hours logged that you have spent looking into your brother and the man he is living with.” She leaned back and folded her arms.

Mycroft said nothing. 

“23 hours, Sir, in just the past week.”

Still nothing, but he reached to open the folder to confirm if this was true. It was, of course, Anthea is never wrong.

“Part of my job is to advise you. I would be a horrible assistant if I didn’t tell you that meeting with this man weekly would be much more efficient than watching his every move.” She had a polite smile pasted on, but Mycroft could tell she was enjoying this immensely.

He frowned, and pretended to consider it. On one hand she was right. He had known this for a while but refused to acknowledge it. Because on the other hand, he was scared. The DI was gentle and kind and soft despite the hell his life had put him through. And now he was being gentle and kind and soft to Sherlock, who was doing better than he had in his past 19 years of life. The detective had been almost two stories in during their dinner when Mycroft Holmes came to the conclusion that his absence was necessary to preserve the good that Gregory Lestrade did for Sherlock and the rest of London.

“I think the detective could use a friend too.” If the room wasn’t dead silent, he did not think he would have heard her. Looking up into her eyes, though, made him understand.

The clicking of her heels grew softer as the most dangerous man in the British government slowly picked up his phone and typed with shaking fingers.

~~~~

_**I apologize for the radio silence. Coffee shop outside the Yard after your shift Friday? -M** _

Lestrade’s heart almost stopped when he saw from whom the text was from. It took him approximately 7 minutes to sound out a reply that didn’t sound completely stupid.

_**works for me** _  
_**see u then (:** _

He visibly cringed at the smiley face after it had been sent. Maybe he should have spent more time debating it.

_**:-) -M** _

A glove flew at him from across the room. “Ewww! Stop flirting with my brother!” Unknown to the older man, Sherlock had also taken interest when his phone alerted him of a notification, and the teen had been watching intensely. With a sneer on his face, Sherlock went back to (badly) making tonight’s supper.

Lestrade could care less that the curly haired boy had witnessed the stupid grin on his face. Mycroft Holmes sent smiley face emojis. 

~~~~

Mycroft arrived at the cafe exactly an hour early, just like he had done at the restaurant. He scanned the seating area for an isolated area with an empty table. 

“Over here, mate!” The voice was incredibly familiar. 

He whipped around, eyes widened. There was Lestrade, sitting at a table pushed against the wall he previously had his back to. 

“I ended up not having any paperwork to finish off today so I decided to save us a seat, guess the criminals of London decided I deserved an early start to my weekend.” Lestrade never smiled as much on the video footage as he was right now. Maybe Anthea was right. “How come you’re here so early?” 

There were multiple answers he could have given. He also was finished with his paperwork (not true) or he had decided to get some work done here in the shop before the detective arrived (also not true). The politician gave a half truth instead, “I like to arrive early to my meetings.” It wasn’t all meetings. Just the ones that made him so nervous he felt sick to his stomach. After years of attending joint conferences with his father, he had learned that spending an hour getting acclimated to the setting helps ease his nerves.

“Have you ever ordered anything here before?” The other man asked as the ginger haired man seated himself across from him.

“I have not, but I will take a simple black coffee.” He moved to get up from the table, but Lestrade placed a hand over his arm stopped him. 

“Let me order for you. Trust me.” He winked and headed over to the cashier. Even if he had given Mycroft the time to object, he doubted any words would have come out. It’s been a while since he heard the word “trust” from someone else’s mouth. That concept didn’t live in his world of political scandals and lies.

He wondered if he was even capable of trusting another person. As much as he cared for Sherlock, his brother has shot up one too many times, and run away far more times, to ever give Mycroft a sense of security. Maybe Anthea. She knew everything about him already. That was different, though. He never actually told her anything intimate or personal. He just let her find out for herself. 

How risky it would be to trust someone. How stupid. How incredibly human.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops a few months late again. Hope everyone is staying safe (:

**Author's Note:**

> Hi please let me know if the transitions are confusing. I'm expecting this story to be about 10 chapters and I'm super bored so it will be updated frequently. Always open to suggestions!


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